


Shedding The Past

by intortus



Category: Spartacus Series (TV), Spartacus: Blood and Sand, Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Bromance, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon Related, Canonical Character Death, Gap Filler, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hair, Haircuts, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:33:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intortus/pseuds/intortus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spartacus helps Agron lift his grief for Duro while they discuss loss and love over the cutting of hair. </p><p>Takes place between Blood and Sand & Vengeance. Mentions character deaths and contains some swear words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shedding The Past

**Author's Note:**

> With this little fic, I attempt to explore a variety of things: the origins of Agron’s overprotectiveness, the bond of loyalty between Agron and Spartacus, and of course the question of what happened to Agron’s dreadlocks.

Agron stormed away from ending conversation with Crixus and Spartacus, seeking solitude in the dark cistern. Furiously he paced alongside the water. ‘What does Crixus know of loss, spitting bold words of reunification with Naevia?’, he pondered. His thoughts lingered on the battle in the ludus. 

_This time I save you, brother._

His hands recalled his brother in his arms as the life fled from behind Duro’s eyes. Duro had forever left this world for the afterlife. With him, Agron had lost the last person that he truly held to heart, the last member of his tribe whose fate was known to him. 

Duro and Agron had been inseparable since childhood. Agron had always looked out for Duro, but on many occasions so had Duro helped Agron out of dire situations, both concerning hand and heart. Always had they sought each other’s aid and advice. 

Duro’s voiced echoed through Agron’s mind again. _This time I save you, brother._

‘How dare he leave me alone in this world? How dare he give his life for mine?’ It had always been Agron’s duty to protect Duro, and he had failed. ‘Why have the gods not taken my life instead of his?’. He ground his teeth, breathing heavily.

As buried memories were unearthed, he felt his chest constrict, his vision blurred. Angry at allowing grief to overtake him, rage began to tremble inside him. In blind anger, he tossed a cup into the water, causing the surface to cast ripples. He bent over the edge of the water and laid eyes on his distorted reflection - immediately he jumped backwards as a shock ran through him. For a second he had thought that Duro was staring back at him through the dark water. Rationality calmed his thundering heart - surely these are not the shores of the afterlife… 

He bent over the water again. The ripples had nearly died down and now he clearly saw his own reflection, a twin image of his lost brother. He ran his hands over his hair, feeling the rough, hard texture of the matted braids that adorned his head. It had been Duro’s hands that had twisted them into place, as it had been Agron’s hands that had twisted Duro’s. How could his grief ever ease when every reflection of himself was a constant reminder of what he had lost? With anger burning in his chest, he snatched the dagger from his belt, grabbed a braid and furiously started sawing at it. He was so preoccupied with his rage that he had not noticed Spartacus approaching him with quick pace and worried expression. 

“Agron! What is the purpose of this?” Spartacus inquired hastily, as he noticed how Agron’s blade slipped from its intended target. 

Agron started, surprised to see his fellow gladiator beside him. He had been so occupied with his anger that he had not noticed Spartacus’ approach. “Grief would ease quicker if I no longer stood as fucking mirror to Duro”, Agron spat, as he angrily continued to hack at further braids. 

“Calm yourself”, Spartacus laid his hand on Agron’s arm, “Let me aid in the matter. I would not have you inflict unnecessary wound upon self” offered Spartacus, as he laid eyes on a faint trail of blood trickling through Agron’s hair. 

Snorting through his rage, Agron froze for a moment and found Spartacus’ eyes. Feeling the sting of the fresh wound on his scalp, he realised that Spartacus had a point. With a trace of reluctance, he flipped the dagger and offered its handle to Spartacus. Spartacus took hold of the handle and gestured Agron to sit on a nearby chest. Once settled, Spartacus grabbed a braid and set the dagger to work. 

“It is not an easy task to lift the loss of those we hold to heart. More so that of those who have accompanied us since we fell from womb.” Spartacus sighed. “Were there others who stood as such to you?” he continued. 

Agron felt a tingling sensation on his scalp while the blade slit through the softer parts of hair from which the braid sprung. His mind turned to the deep forests of his birthland. “There were many, separated from Duro and myself by a number of winters. Yet as first- and second-born it was always our duty to take lead and provide for our siblings, while our father and mother were engaged in defence of our lands.” He paused a moment, while his eyes followed a braid falling to the floor. “Yet he was not the first loss I endured. As we were growing out of boyhood, we were tasked with gathering fruit in the forests near the swamps with one of our youngest brothers. While Duro and I sparred over a spilled bag, we did not notice that our brother had wandered off. We did not hear his screams for help, which were drowned quickly in the bog that swallowed him. We searched endlessly for hours, until we came to accept that the swamp had claimed his life. He had barely lived through five winters.” Agron sighed as memories resurfaced he had hoped long forgotten. 

“Apologies”, said Spartacus compassionately, “I did not know.” He paused, pondering if he should make further inquiries, fearing the response. Yet he knew that sometimes sharing a burden was the best way to see it lifted. He knew that Agron was the kind of man who would rather turn his grief inward, letting it simmer into blind rage. “What of your other siblings? Surely they are yet of this world?” he inquired, sliding the sharp blade through the soft hair that rooted a braid.

Agron took another deep breath, ever aware of the tingling on his scalp which had now moved to the centre of his head. “Two of our young sisters were captured with us by Romans and sold as slaves. I do not know what became of the others in our tribe. I only saw them retreat to the woods as the battle against the Romans ended in stalemate. I do not wish to linger on thoughts of what might have been inflicted on them.” 

As Spartacus threw another braid on the slowly growing pile, it began to dawn on him why Agron had always been so fiercely protective of his brother. “We all have suffered loss at the cruelty of the Romans. I do not know what became of my remaining tribesmen in Thrace, but I can only hope they do not share fate with Sura, Varro and our many fallen brothers and sisters.” 

At mention of Sura, Agron’s mind trailed to the lover he had lost in battle. For a moment his heart ceased in chest, as he recalled blue eyes once shining vividly gone cold, the once luscious golden locks that framed a handsome face encrusted with blood and dirt. It had been a young love, but with promise of more to come. First him, now then his brother… He suppressed a tear that threatened to escape his eyes. 

“How can a heart endure such loss as the Romans would have us suffer again and again?” he contemplated. While he watched the pile of braids on the ground increase in size, the tingling sensation caused by Spartacus’ hands moved towards the back of his head. 

Spartacus set the blade to the remaining braids yet attached to Agron’s head. “Time eases suffering. Yet to give away your heart again, that is not an easy task for most men. With every day that passes, my heart still aches for Sura. Yet the company of Mira provides comfort and welcome distraction.” 

Agron felt compassion for Mira, as he realised that she would appreciate it if Spartacus would offer her his heart. But before he could form a reply, Spartacus threw the last braid unto the pile. “The task is accomplished!” he announced, and looked at the transformed likeness of his brother. 

Agron glanced at the pile of braids on the floor and was again reminded of his lifeless brother’s form in his arms. _This time I save you, brother._

He took a torch from the wall and held it to the pile. It brightly ignited within the blink of an eye, the smell of burned keratin filling the air. A few seconds later nothing but dying sparks remained on the cold stone floor. 

Agron ran his hand over his head, now feeling a long forgotten softness on himself. It was a strangely unfamiliar experience for him, but he began to see the advantage in it, as this would not cause distraction upon field of battle. However, he would have to get used to this new sensation, to this lack of weight on his head. 

“Gratitude, brother” Agron said, offering Spartacus his branded arm. 

“None required” Spartacus embraced Agron’s arm with his hand. “We have yet many battles to fight. I would see your heart returned to proper place.” His other hand reassuringly grabbed hold of Agron’s shoulder as he smiled at his fellow gladiator. 

“It is yet a long way away. Yet shedding of the past eases return to chest.” replied Agron with a smile, but the sadness in his eyes betrayed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive feedback is very welcome! However, please be easy on me as this is my first ever proper fanfiction. I made some half-hearted attempts at Harry Potter fanfiction about eight years ago, but it was not until Spartacus came along that my interest in fanfiction was reignited. :)


End file.
